


Revival of Ryan

by QueenCoeurl



Series: Royalty AU [2]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Achievement Hunter Kings, Gen, Mad King Ryan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-16
Updated: 2014-08-16
Packaged: 2018-05-26 14:24:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6242839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenCoeurl/pseuds/QueenCoeurl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Mad King once again walks among the living after dying to Gavin’s blade.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Revival of Ryan

 

 

 

He awoke with a cough and gasped to fill his lungs with the stagnant air around him. Desperately he swallowed trying to wet his dried throat. This was a familiar darkness, an all too familiar position. The weight of his sword pressed down on his chest as he lay on the cold granite slab.

His joints felt stiff as his fingers twitched free of their grip of the hilt resting on his sternum. Carefully he ran his hand across the stone below him until he found the edge.

He exhaled, relieved that he had not been encased and instead merely laid out on a slab in some tomb.

The darkness was complete and unyielding, he was unaware of how much time had passed, but even a few hours wouldn’t matter at this point.

He was back, and he was weak; arguing with the souls of those he had slain had taken a toll, but at last they had released their hold over him. Their voices finally silenced. He was within the realm of mortal flesh once again.

With great effort he sat himself upright and along with decades of dust something also fell from his head. It rattled in the darkness as it fell to the rough-hewn stone floor.

After some time he gathered himself, swung off of the slab and stood for the first time since the usurper’s sword had spilled his gut. He fastened his own blade back to its proper position around his waist. Its familiar weight strengthened his resolve and reminded him of the power he wielded.

Determined to once again hold the throne he stepped forward and kicked the object that had fallen from his head. Curious as to why that Jester would bury him with a crown he picked up and felt the item. It was a crown, but it was not his crown. It was a farce crafted of bone and dung. He assumed bovine, and tossed the mockery away. He would have to send his thanks to Gavin when they met.

He felt his way forward blindly along the wall, the floor had a slight incline and stopped at a large carved boulder that sealed the tomb. It wasn’t much of an obstacle, but in his current state it still took several blows before it crumbled to sand before him. He was greeted by the howling wind and starry sky. Snow blown by the wind began to gather on his cloak as he gazed down the side of the mountain. They had buried him at the northern border, among the mountains that stood sentinel there. This was a cursed land, unforgiving and patrolled by the still moving corpses of those who had fallen to the blade of the First King at the kingdom’s inception.

The dead did not patrol alone, they wandered alongside giant spiders, demons, and more dangerous fiends.

Feeling the cold brush his face and watching his breath rise on the wind assured him that he was not yet a member of their ranks. The First King was more than mortal and his rule had tainted the dead, his victims rising to seek revenge. Unfortunately, once the First’s rule had ended the dead had not gone with him. To eternally end him it would take more than a man. It would take a god.

And a God is what he would become.

Wrapped tightly in his cloak, snow soaking his boots, he made his way down the treacherous slope and fought his way through the pines. They had entombed him in formal wear. He had not his armour or furs. Velvet caught and tore on branches, embroidery frayed, and gold thread was lost to the snow.

Few lived in the north, but those who did lived in small huts and villages dotting the landscape. They were a hardy and warm people, had to be, or they would not survive.

A light flickered in the woods before him, upon nearing he saw it was a crude torch fastened to the trunk of a tree. He could see the light from other torches at intervals throughout the woods. The snow here was not as deep, the undergrowth tamed.

He tore down the torch for its light and meager warmth and continued in the direction he had been heading. Light kept the dead at bay, and any homestead in the north would have the surrounding lands well lit. He was near civilization, he could rest, he could warm himself, and he could then find his way south.

He entered a clearing, and within it a small three room cabin next to a small barn and animal pen. The cabin’s windows flickered with a warm light, spurring him on to approach the door. His muscles ached and his whole body shook uncontrollably. He didn’t shoulder the door open so much as fall into it, breaking it open and collapsing.

 

 

“He’s finally stirring!” He heard the female voice, and then her hurried footsteps away.

Warm furs tickled his skin and he opened his eyes to the rafters of the cozy wooden cabin. He had been stripped of his wet clothes and they had been replaced by thick woolen ones. He pushed aside the thick furs covering his body and sat himself up in the little cot. A fire cracked and popped in the hearth at the far side of the room, and he could see sunlight poking through the curtained window. A simple tabby warmed itself on the rug before the fire.

The woman returned with a large goblet carved of horn and filled with water. He drank it greedily and looked up at the woman. When he recognized her he dropped the goblet and stood, reaching for his hip only to find no sword there.

“Lindsay…” He stated in disbelief.

Lindsay knelt and picked up the goblet, pushing her red hair back behind an ear, “Good thing it was just water.”

“Lindsay!” Came a concerned holler and in stormed her husband, sword half drawn.

Lindsay quickly stood and positioned herself between them as Michael and Ryan locked eyes, “Dropped some water. Calm down.”

“Haywood.” Michael calmly greeted and sheathed his sword once again.

“Mogar.” Ryan responded, “Can’t help but notice my sword’s been taken away.”

Michael leaned on the doorframe and crossed his arms, “You’re lucky your life hasn’t been taken away. Breaking down my door in the middle of the night, half frozen.  Could have just dragged you back outside and left you to die.”

Ryan straightened, “Then you know that I’m going to ask why.”

“Why you’re still alive. Yeah.” He stopped leaning and walked over, “What’s murder between friends? It was for the throne after all. Seeing as certain people have trouble staying dead in this realm, I’d only be delaying the inevitable.”

“And why not delay it? Or is the Jester not treating his boy well?” Ryan asked.

“And now I take my leave,” Lindsay turned to leave, “And this as well.” She grabbed Michael’s sword and left the room.

Michael was going to protest, but the so called Mad King stood before him demanding his attention, “Gavin is an… adequate ruler. I won’t have him murdered by you in cold blood.”

Ryan smirked, “This kingdom was born of blood, and so is each new rule. If it isn’t I that takes his life, then another will. You cannot protect an usurper.”

“You dare call him the usurper? May I remind you that Geoff named three potential heirs of which none was _you_?”  Michael jabbed his finger out, “Pattillo was tasked with keeping the peace among us, no easy endeavor, when the Vagabond from the southwest, you, came and dethroned Geoff. You tipped the scale! We would have waited for the First to crown one of us, but without him it became a war. The three heirs locking blades! Your doing Haywood!”

He crossed his arms, “Ah yes, my doing, as if you all were not eager to spill each other’s blood long before I wandered onto the scene. The scale didn’t require much interference to tip; my actions were merely a convenient excuse.”

“As if you could understand loyalty.”

“I demand it of my subjects.”

Michael shook his head, “The First will reclaim his throne - he is no mere mortal, he still wanders the palace halls - and when he does, he will unite us, and then not even you shall have the power to take the kingdom.”

“The First can reclaim nothing, if he ceases to be.” Ryan stepped forward.

Michael held his ground, “Only the gods have that power.”

Ryan looked down and smiled before returning Michael’s gaze, “ _Currently._ ”


End file.
